The GameChanger
by ijs1337
Summary: The reapings of the 74th Hunger Games have ended, and the mysterious boy known as The Refugee has volunteered as the tribute for District 10. Shrouded in intrigue, yet obviously deadly, his presence will change the Games themselves.
1. Chapter 1

Game-Changer

Chapter 1

The Volunteer

**Note: This series serves as a retelling of The Hunger Games that involves my OC, Weaver. For the sake of maintaining Weaver's mysteriousness and coolness, most(if not all) of the series will be from Katniss' perspective on Weaver. When picturing Weaver, watch the Woodkid-iron music video, and just picture the guy who's covered in tattoos, but younger. Series overall is rated T for cool fistfights, fire, possibly religiously sensitive topics(the reasons for which that is mentioned will become apparent about partway through the series), and because its the friggin Hunger Games. I own nothing relating to The Hunger Games. Reivews and criticisms are welcome encouraged, and appreciated.**

We sit in the car, watching the shots of the reapings and tributes from the other Districts. District 10 sends up a boy with a broken leg, and when volunteers are asked for, one steps forward.

He's got on an old leather jacket, wearing silver keys strung on a small chain around his neck. Little black stars are on the upper sides of his head. His hands are covered in various black markings. I take note of him. Everyone in Panem knows who he is. He's the refugee, the 17-year old kid who wandered into District 10 from the outlying forests about a year ago.

They call his name. It's Weaver. I don't know if its his first name or his last. He doesn't say anything. He helps the boy with the broken leg off the stage, and shakes hands with the other tribute.

He's got a look about him, a kind of blank fascination mixed with boredom, like he's already been through more than any of us, physically, mentally, in terms of fighting for his life, but he can't help but wonder if anyone might surprise him in the days or weeks to come. He's somewhat wiry, from what I can tell of him, but it's the kind of hard wiriness, the kind that you can tell hides real strength and capability. But that isn't what really worries me. What worries me is that no-one knows anything about him, other than that he wasn't born in the landmass Panem is on.

I realize he's going to be a problem. A major one.

He fixes the camera with that blank stare, and now its taken a slightly accusatory tone to it, like he knows his competition and all of Capitol will be watching him, and he's daring them about something only he knows.


	2. Chapter 2

The GameChanger

Chapter 2

Training, Rule-Breaking, and Scoring

**Note: Weaver's going to enter butt-kicking mode here, and we find out a little bit more about him. I do not own anything of or relating to the Hunger Games. Reviews, comments and criticisms are welcome, encouraged, and appreciated.**

I eye Weaver as he walks into the training area. His keys clink against his chest beneath his jacket, on his white shirt. It seems like that's all he'll ever wear. he didn't even change for the opening ceremonies. I think that he doesn't seem to play be anybody's rules but his own.

Weaver stops at a table, and pulls the key necklace over his head. He drops them to the table with a clink. He pulls off his jacket, revealing a sleeveless shirt beneath, then he pulls his shirt off.

He's covered in tattoos. Wings are one his chest, with a shield beneath them, and a crown above them. Vines of roses covered in thorns, leading the face of a woman, run down his left arm, while arrows and swords and knights go down his right. He turns around to pull the key necklace off the table, and I see he's got a tattoo on the back of his neck that matches them exactly, except the keys are crossed. On his shoulder blades, there are the heads of two wolves, tongues lolling out, droll dripping from the one on his left, their eyes bugging in what could either be happiness or murderous rage.

The boy tribute from District 2 snatches the keys off the table. He's carrying a sword in his left hand. Weaver slowly turns and looks at him.

"What? You need these back?" The boy says.

"I'd appreciate it if you would see fit to return them." Weaver says.

"I think maybe I'll hold onto these for a while." he smirks.

"That would be unwise."

"Why?"

"It would be very painful-"

"What, these things mean something to you?"

"For you." Weaver curls his right hand into a fist.

Everyone's attention is on the two of them now. The District 2 career tribute is clearly provoking Weaver cause he thinks Weaver wouldn't dare break the rules and try and fight him here and now.

I again get the sense that Weaver doesn't care about what rules Capitol has set, and that he has no intention of following them.

Weaver reaches over and pulls his shirt off the table.

"I'll ask you one more time." He says.

"Don't bother." the Career replies.

"As you wish." Weaver says softly. He shuts his eyes.

The Career walks bait closer and jangles the keys.

Weaver's eyes snap open. His pupils have dilated into tiny pinpricks of blackness.

Weaver's elbow shoots up and hits the Career in the nose.

The Career swings his sword. Weaver intercepts it with his shirt and wraps part of the shirt around it. He elbows the Career in the face again.

The Career steps back.

Weaver tosses the shirt up in front of the Career's face. He draws his fist back and starts to throw a punch.

RIght as the shirt clears the Career's eyes, Weaver's fist nails him in the jaw, and I think I see a tooth fly off somewhere.

Weaver jabs his left fist into the Career's left ribs, and kicks him in the knee.

The Career slumps slightly, still off-guard, and off-balance from the sucker punch.

Weaver grabs his hair and yanks his face down, bringing his kneecap up into the Career's nose.

The Career stumble backward. Weaver claps his hands around the Career's ears, spins him with a shove, and hits him in the ribs and face again.

The Career finally regains his footing ad bearings and brings his sword down in a savage cut at Weaver's head.

Weaver catches the blade between his hands, and twists to the left violently.

The blade snaps in two along Weaver's hands. He slams the flat of the blade into the Career's face, then kicks him in the gut, knocking him down.

Weaver jams the half-blade into the floor, inches from the Career's face.

"A word of advice; taunting an opponent whose capabilities you don't know is you begging to be buried. Put that advice into practice for however much time you've got left." He hisses.

Weaver yanks the keys from the Career's hand, and drops them over his neck.

He picks up his shirt and jacket and walks out. Everyone is left speechless.

Two days later, I see his score after his private session with the Gamemakers; he has the same score as me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Finally updating this. Been a very long time coming. Time to find out a bit more about Weaver. I do not own anything or anyone relating to The Hunger Games (excepting Weaver).**

The GameChanger

Chapter 3

Weaver comes out, wearing what he always wears. Same jacket, same shirt, same pants. I can't help but wonder if he has a few pairs of each, or if he washes them each day.

He sits down with Ceasar, and they begin talking.

"So, Weaver. Is that your first name or your last name?" Ceasar asks.

"It's the name you have to know me by. What does it matter if it comes first or second?" Weaver says, hands folded over one another, arms propped on his knees.

"Uh…well, it doesn't I guess." Ceasar says, caught slightly off-guard. We all are. None of us knows what to expect form Weaver, but it certainly wasn't what he just said.

"Well, tell us a bit about yourself. We all know you aren't from here."

Weaver pulls back into the chair. His eyes defocus slightly.

"I am not from here, correct. I was born far away. A place once called il vaticano. The Vatican. In a city once called Rome."

"Once called?"

"Nothing is left. Nothing of worth, at least. Infighting and war has destroyed what little lasted through the disasters of old."

"So, you grew up in a war zone, more or less?"

"Yes. I suppose I did. That's not agains't your rules, is it?" There's a bit of a joke in that question.

"I don't think there's any precedent for it. But, on another topic, I'm told you have a lot of tattoos."

"You are told correct."

"Would you mind showing us?"

Weaver sits up, slides his jacket off, pulls the keys over his neck.

"What are those?" Ceasar asks.

"A symbol. Of status. Given to my great-grandfather, for nearly dying to save the legitimate leader of his time. When that leader died, the people looked to my great-grandfather for leadership. They are a symbol of that. Of the trust and responsibility placed upon the family." He starts pulling off his shirt.

"So, they were passed down? Parent to child?"

"Not always, but they found their way back into the family with my father." He drops his shirt on his chair.

"Oh, my word." Ceasar's almost speechless at Weaver's tattoos. I never really thought about it, but they are very well done. No, they're more than that. They look like they were done with the utmost care, by a loving hand.

"So, do those mean anything? Or did you just get them in stages one week?"

"Some context will be needed." Weaver says. He clears his throat. "My father told me, when I was little, he said to me 'All that happens to a man makes him who he is. A man must remember all that has happened to him, if he is to continue to be the man he is. He must remember everything, the good and bad, the triumphs and pains, for all he has faced makes him himself. And should he forget, he will loose himself, become someone the man who remembers would despise. Promise me, you will remember all that happens to you, that you stay who you are.' That is why I have these. So that I will always remember. So that each time I look at myself, I am reminded of what has happened to me. Reminded of who I am. So that I cannot forget."

"So, these are all relevant to you as a person?"

"Yes." Weaver turns, and taps the wolves on his shoulder blades . "Lupa and Romulus. My brother's dogs. They died with him." He points to his left arm, the one with knights, swords, arrows, and now that I look closely, guns. "The profession of the family. We were warriors, soldiers." He points to the crown, wings, and shield on his chest. "Symbols of who our people were. Before we fell apart." He taps the stars on his head. "What I looked at after my first kill." He runs his hands down the bottoms, where his little fingers meet the hands. Written there are the words 'your' and 'move'. "The family motto."

"And what's that?" Ceasar asks, pointing to Weaver's right arm, the one with the vines, thorns, roses, and a woman's face.

"What's the average age of those watching this?" Weaver asks. "Any children?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I can't go in detail. And even if I could, what that represents is not your business." He smirks as he says this, and there's a faint chuckle in the audience. Ceasar's smirking too, everyone here has guessed his meaning.

The buzzer sounds.

**Note: If that last bit doesn't make sense, look up the Gladiator quotes page on IMDB. It's the first one.**


End file.
